


Ante Post II

by goldearring (leoandsnake)



Series: journos [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Journalism, Coitus Interruptus, Fluff, M/M, Television News, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-09 22:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13491507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoandsnake/pseuds/goldearring
Summary: Louis and Liam get married; a breaking news story forces them to duck out of their reception.





	Ante Post II

_April 6, 2018_

“Hey,” Louis says from the doorway, watching Liam as he wet-combs his hair in the large vanity mirror.

Liam dips the comb again, a smile growing on his face. He's lit from behind by the early morning haze, starkers except for a pair of striped boxers. The sky is bright, even though it’s drizzling rain. Sunshower. Their florist said that’s good luck.

“We aren't supposed to see each other, I thought,” Liam says.

“I think that's just if someone’s in a dress,” Louis says, coming over and sitting on the couch. “I don’t plan on wearing one, do you?”

He chuckles.

The Unitarian meeting house they picked out for the ceremony has a little getting-ready suite, probably intended for brides, but Liam’s made good use of it -- the groomsmen's suits got wrinkled in the boot of Niall’s car on the way over, so he's been steaming them in here, and he's scattered his BB cream, hair product and brow gel on the vanity.

For the moment, Louis is still dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt he has from ITV News’ 2014 charity cricket match. His name is misspelled on the back as _TONLINSON._

He watches as Liam smooths back the tiniest stray hairs, studying himself in the mirror with the practiced absorption of on-camera talent.

“You're doing Lou’s job for her,” he points out.

“No, I'm just making it easier,” Liam protests.

“C’mere,” Louis says in a husky voice.

“Hang on…”

Louis gets to his feet and goes over, grabbing the thick rod of his cock through the fabric of his boxers and kissing him. Liam drops what he's doing and responds bodily, cupping Louis’ face in his hands and rocking his hips into his touch.

“I was thinking, little nooner to calm our nerves,” Louis breathes. “Before we go see the groundskeeper.”

“Shouldn't we save that?” Liam says, running his fingers lightly over Louis’ temples, pushing his fringe back. “For tonight?”

“Lemme have one last fuck as a free man, yeah?”

Liam undoes the button and fly on his jeans and tugs them down off his arse, then kneels gingerly on the stone floor and looks up at him through the fan of his lashes.

The sight still takes Louis’ breath away, his handsome television star boyfriend -- fiancé -- looking up at him like this, inches from his cock.

“Hang on,” Louis says. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh, alright,” Liam says, and obediently starts stroking himself. “How long’ve we got?”

“Twenty.”

“Ha, that's ages. On the couch?”

“Yeah, I was thinkin’, like, me on your lap.”

Liam makes a soft noise of approval and gets to his feet. Louis pulls the lube he brought along out of his discarded jeans, then takes his intended by the hand and leads him to the couch.

There’s a funny tension between them, a crackling wave of nerves and excitement. They keep grinning and giggling for no reason at all. Louis had woken this morning at five thirty and laid there buzzing for an hour, staring at Liam, waiting for him, watching him breathe.

He settles onto Liam’s lap and starts snogging him; Liam starts to finger him open, his hand working steadily. Rain patters on the window. Louis wraps his arms around Liam, running his fingers through his hair.

“You’re making Lou’s job harder, now,” Liam says. The lowness of his voice makes electricity crawl up Louis’ spine.

“Want me money’s worth,” Louis murmurs, kissing him. He tastes like coconut lip balm. “Can't let her start slacking.”

When he's good for it, Louis reaches underneath himself and slowly guides Liam’s cock into him. Liam exhales, his chest falling.

“Be gentle on me… lot of -- _oh_ \-- lot of time on my feet, today...”

They kiss deeply for a while as Liam very lazily rocks up into him, hands wrapped around his waist and one going up the small of his back. His fingers are ringless, still, at least for a few more hours.

There was no big proposal between them. They were lying awake one night late last year around Halloween, listening to rain pound on the roof and windows. Louis thought Liam was asleep, but then his voice rang out in the darkness.

“D’you ever think about getting married?”

Louis had rolled over, placing his hand on Liam’s warm chest, feeling him breathe under his palm.

“Yeah,” he said. “What, to you?”

Liam laughed. “No, to Niall.”

“Aye, think about marrying Niall all the time,” he joked. “No, um… I do. Think about marrying you. Why?”

Liam countered with a question of his own: “When? Now, or like, eventually?”

“I dunno,” Louis admitted. Liam had wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer.

There was never any real fear in him, when he thought about marrying Liam. It would be a change, one with a certain finality to it, but something he desperately wanted, longed for. One that excited him to think about, in a way he hasn't gotten excited since he was young.

“Tomorrow, honestly,” Louis said, goofily. “Next week. Whenever.”

Liam kissed him on the temple. “Yeah? Me too…”

“You're ready?”

“I've been ready, Tommo.” Liam’s voice was sweet in the dark, the sound of it rocking Louis like a little boat, like a lullaby.

Louis drew a circle on his chest. “It isn't too soon, like?”

“We know, don't we?”

They did know, that much was true. They’d barely been apart for any days of the last eighteen months, becoming more rooted in each other, like trees growing conjoined.

They did break up once, very briefly. They had a stunning row, ignited by too much drinking and their own projected insecurities, and Louis had stormed out to go stay with Oli.

That was it, he convinced himself, it was over. He even started thinking about changing jobs so he wouldn't have to see Liam every day anymore, because just the thought of it was like thumbscrews.

And then he went over a few days later to pick up the cat and looked Liam in his sweet heartbroken face, and suddenly they were apologizing and tearing each other’s clothes off.

“We know,” he agreed.

Liam’s fingers stilled on his arm.

“Shit,” he said. “Wow. Are we like, engaged?”

“I think we are, Payno.”

They laughed in mild hysteria.

So there was no big proposal, and there weren't any engagement rings. Simon was annoying enough about the impending wedding bands (“Can Liam just not wear it on air?” he whinged to Paul. “It's going to be a distraction,” which had infuriated Louis so much when he heard about it that he wrote LIAM PAYNE’S FIANCÉ on a white shirt with magic marker and wore it around the newsroom for an entire day, which had the unintended effect of everyone then congratulating them constantly) and they weren't sure what to do about it, anyway, as two blokes.

“You don't want a massive blood diamond?” Liam joked to him over breakfast in November. “You could put it on a chain around your neck.”

Their wedding bands are nice, though. Fourteen karat gold, and ‘comfort fit’, which Louis was very insistent on, and that they should be snug enough not to come off if Liam has to do an Anderson Cooper and slog through floodplains on the Isle of Wight or something.

“Snug enough they'll have to cut it off me, if something happens to me,” Liam pointed out too casually, and Louis twitched like he was shaking off a fly and said, “Nothing’s gonna _happen_ to you.”

He thinks about the rings as he rides Liam, about slipping them onto each other’s fingers, and shivers. It's a good shiver. Liam kisses his shoulder, darkened from a couple probably ill-advised trips to the tanning salon. It was a relapse into the vain habits of his very early twenties, when he was freshly apart from Eleanor and going to a lot of gay clubs, trying to compete with the bronzed go-go dancers who had abs of steel.

Liam starts to move his hips with more purpose, really fucking up into him, and Louis moans, gripping his hair.

There's a knock at the door. They both freeze.

“Hey,” Niall calls. “Got the groundskeeper waitin’ for you.”

“He's early,” Louis calls back. His voice comes out higher than he means it to.

“Yeah, he is. You busy?”

“Sort of,” Liam says, and clears his throat.

Niall’s silent for a few beats.

“Oh, gross,” he says genially. “You're not having it off in there?”

Liam reddens and stifles some laughter.

“Niall!” Louis exclaims.

“Christ -- you are, aren't you! You know you've got the rest of your _lives_ for that!”

“Niall, please!”

“Alright, alright, I'll delay him.”

“Cheers,” Louis says, sounding strained as he shifts on Liam, “you're the best best man, mate.”

They hear Niall chuckling to himself, then retreating footsteps on the stone floor.

“Shit,” Liam says. “He’s got me going soft.”

“Oh no you don't.” Louis grinds down on him with renewed vigor, gripping his hair hard.

They work at this for a few more minutes, trying to keep their soft grunts and moans as quiet as possible. And then Liam is screwing up his face and swearing, and untensing with a sigh underneath Louis.

Louis grips him hard by the hair and rides him as he softens, stroking himself, finally coming all over both their stomachs with a groan.

He climbs off of him and staggers to the bathroom, wetting a flannel in the sink and coming back with it to clean them both off. Liam tips his head up and gazes at him with lovey, orgasm-dark eyes.

“Sodomizing me in a house of God,” Louis mutters, smiling.

“Yeah, out of _love_ , though.”

Louis plays idly with Liam’s flaccid dick as he wipes him down. “Guess that’s alright, then,” he says.

 

/

 

Louis winces as the three of them bounce down the hill toward the garden where the reception will be. The garden overlooks a creek, which butts up against the edge of a splendid little forest. A tent stands next to the tables, flapping in the breeze.

“Lovely weather since the rain’s gone,” Mark the groundskeeper remarks, wiping at his brow with a weathered hand. “Sun’s out an’ all that.”

Liam is a stride or so out in front of Louis, but stops and reaches behind himself, hand extended toward his fiancé.

Louis takes it and sidles up beside him.

“Hi,” Liam says.

“Hi hi.”

They have a little kiss. Mark, already meters away, turns around to see where they've got to and waits patiently as they catch up with him.

Louis walks around the tables, glancing at placecards, making sure everyone’s seats are according to the chart the two of them brought up -- they spent long hours in bed together with it, their legs tangled up, marking up an iPad mockup with their fingers while Louis explained the tangled beefs and long-held grudges between various ITV employees, and Liam kept gasping and going “Noo! _They_ fucked? When?”

He notices someone's put Fizzy in between Lottie and Tommy, so he fixes that.

“You lot didn't have a wedding planner?” Mark says, taking his cap off and running his fingers through his sandy hair.

“We did,” Liam says. “Louis dismissed her.”

“Well, she was fuckin’ expensive, wasn't she?” Louis says, straightening a tablecloth. “And this wasn't _that_ hard. I mean, I do plan things for a living.”

Liam is smiling. “You did good.”

“Yeah, and you worried, you punter.”

/

 

When they get back to the meeting house, Niall’s got a football and is playing keepaway with the other groomsmen (Oli, Lottie, Andy, John and Owen -- they had argued at length over which one of them would get Niall on their side. Louis finally won out by virtue of seniority, then made him his best man to further rub it in).

“Noo,” Lottie cries as the ball goes by her, and hitches up her dress to go fetch it. She's barefoot. “I'm going to get all muddy!”

“Wanna smoke?” John says to Louis.

“Promised your boy I wouldn't smoke all today or during the honeymoon,” Louis says with regret.

This is met with friendly booing.

“Whipped,” Owen says, reaching his foot out for the ball after Lottie passes it to him.

“I am whipped,” he admits.

”When you smoke, I wanna smoke,” Liam says. “And I can’t smoke now that I’m a fancy telly man, so it’s very unfair.”

“Where's your honeymoon, again?” says Andy, leaning against the gray stone wall of the meeting house, squinting into the sun.

“Caribbean,” says Louis. He snatches up the ball as it goes by him and starts juggling it on his legs.

“Caymans,” Liam corrects.

“Same thing. We got a nice deal on the hotel.”

John is smoking, now. Louis eyes him jealously.

“Where’s Zayn at?” Liam says, pushing his sleeve up to look at his watch. “Told him to get here early ‘cos I knew he'd be late otherwise.”

“He's late to being late,” Louis says. “Not too shocking.”

John laughs. “Liam, remember when he walked into the lecture hall in the middle of our economics final, stoned off his tits?”

“Yeah, and finished in fifteen with full marks?”

“I hated him for that, I really did.”

“Did you put him and Pez at different tables?” Niall says, glancing up at Louis.

He laughs. “They’re as far apart as I could manage, don't worry.”

“What about Harry and Nick?” Lottie says.

He shrugs. “Adjacent tables. I mean, they're friends, still. Ain't a murder on sight situation like Zayn and Perrie.”

Niall laughs at this and kicks the ball to Owen. Louis strolls away from them to go stand in the gravel car park, watching over the winding hills below to keep track of any cars as they arrive. He doesn't see anyone pulling up quite yet. He idly plays with his lighter in his pocket, then turns back to look at the wedding party.

Liam is laughing with John about something, his face lit up and cheery.

“Hey,” Oli says to Louis. “This better be more fun than your stag do.”

Louis adopts an offended expression.

John glances up. “Why, where'd yours go wrong?”

Niall looks surreptitiously over at Lottie. “Zayn brought some, um…” He sniffs. “And the two o’ them went in the bathroom to do it and we figure it was tainted or somethin’, ‘cos Zayn ended up cryin’ and Louis threw up on our waitress.”

“Niall!” Louis protests. “I threw up on the floor!”

“Eh, yeah, but you got her shoe.”

“Lou-is,” Liam says with a chuckle.

Lottie slings an arm over Niall’s shoulders. “Did you really think I wouldn't get that you're talking about coke?” she says to him. He grins at her.

John claps Liam on the back. “That's alright. For this one’s, we got him a stripper and he ended up just talking to her about her uni classes.”

“Really, Payno?” Louis says.

“Noo,” Liam protests weakly. “I threw fivers at her… had a private dance…”

“He certainly did not do any of that,” John says.

“I'm disappointed, mate, you were supposed to get it all out of your system,” says Louis.

Liam smiles at him. His hair is blowing in the breeze. “There's still the honeymoon. Doesn't count on a honeymoon.”

Louis smiles back.

 

/

 

Guests arrive in trickles, and then in droves. They spend an hour or so standing at the top of the hill, greeting everyone as they arrive and then sending them on their way to the caterers so they can get tiny flutes of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The sun grows stronger, and starts to beat down on them.

Bressie, who does spot news photography as a side hustle and who they got a cheap deal on hiring because he's never shot a wedding before, lurks in the bushes snapping photos of their guests the same way he'd act trying to get a shot of Theresa May leaving Parliament.

Harry arrives a bit after Nick, and walks up as Nick is hugging them and handing over their gift. He awkwardly finger-guns him when he sees him. Nick shoots Louis a slyly commiserating look.

“I did warn you he's shit at break-ups,” Louis says. Nick nods while rolling his eyes.

“I am not!” Harry retorts. “Very nice to see all of you.”

“Nice to see you too, Harry,” Liam says, and pulls him in for a hug. “I did just see you the other day, though.”

“Well, nice to see you on a special occasion, then. Congrats.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“Simon isn't here, is he?” Nick says, as he and Harry exchange an awkwardly lukewarm handshake.

Louis squints into the sun. “Simon? Nah, that'd be like inviting my dentist.”

Nick and Harry wave to them and head inside, bickering quietly about something.

“Kids!” calls Karen as she heads gingerly up the gravel path in kitten heels, Geoff worriedly dogging her steps.

“Mum!” Liam yells. “Careful…”

“I'm fine, don't worry, I'm not going to break a hip.” She reaches them and wraps them both in a hug. “Louis, where's your suit?”

“Oh, right,” Louis says, glancing down at himself as they separate. “Probably should get myself together.”

Liam's already dressed and looking handsome, although Lou hasn't done his hair yet -- she's off somewhere with her husband, chatting up Harry -- so it's just sort of flopping boyishly around. Louis is still in his tee with the cigarette burn hole near the hem.

“Maybe,” Liam says, playful. “I dunno. Want to just get married like that?”

“Works for me.”

“Oh, please don't,” Karen begs.

Louis winks at her. “Give us ten, alright?”

He shakes hands with Geoff, who pats him all fatherly on the shoulder.

Back in the meeting house, everyone's lounging in pews and on benches, waiting for the ceremony to get going.

Louis and Liam slip by them like otters, waving and saying hello, and start down the long, dark hallway to the dressing room. Stained-glass windows bounce multicolored light around.

Louis studies Liam's face as he walks alongside him. He looks serene.

“What’re you thinking?” he says.

Liam shrugs. “Lots of things.”

Louis lets out a soft laugh. “You seem calm.”

“I do?”

“What, you're nervous?”

“ _Oh,_ yeah.”

Louis feels relieved.

“Wait, stop,” he says, and Liam immediately halts and turns to him, curiosity in his eyes.

Louis beckons him close and smooths his hands over his chest. He's got a bowtie on, and a well-fitted black tux; his boutonnière isn't pinned on just yet.

“I feel weird saying that shit in front of everybody,” he murmurs. “Our vows.”

“That ain’t what I'm nervous about,” Liam says. “I don't mind doing that. I'm just sort of generally… I dunno.”

He nuzzles Louis’ hairline and drops a tender kiss there.

“Cold feet?” Louis teases.

“No,” Liam says, stroking a finger over Louis’ lower lip. “You know me, I don't get cold feet.”

“Yeah… Sort of like that about you.”

Liam kisses him.

 

/

 

Louis reads over his vows again while Lou does Liam's hair, marking through commas with a pen, fixing turns of phrase.

“Tommo, get your suit on,” Liam begs when Lou’s nearly done with him.

“I can get dressed in ten seconds,” Louis mutters. “But you're gonna remember these vows for the rest of your life.”

“Look, I love everything you write, you know that.”

Louis snorts. “Well, let’s just go with the standard ones, then. To have and to hold.”

“Cherish and obey,” Liam adds, loudly over the sound of the blow dryer.

“Hmm,” Louis says playfully. “I'll cherish you, dunno about obeying you. _You_ can say obey, if you like.”

Lou chuckles at this.

Liam winks at him. “Maybe I will,” he says. “Give my mum a fright.”

Louis goes behind the little divider and shucks his clothes off, slipping into his suit. He decided to forgo the bowtie, so him and Liam wouldn't look too similar. And his suit’s a different cut, too, flattering to his more slender figure.

He steps out, and Liam grins at him.

“There he is,” he says warmly.

Louis smiles back, and then Lou comes after him with the pomade and blow dryer.

 

/

 

They're pulled away from each other by Lottie, who along with Niall has taken on any organizational details Louis let slip through the cracks. She helps him get his boutonniere pinned on as they stand in the wings, organ music filling the air.

Louis takes a deep breath, and then another. Somewhere a few dozen feet from him, Liam is waiting with his groomsmen. He's going to walk first. Louis can't quite remember why he agreed to go second.

“You good?” Lottie murmurs, looking up.

“Yeah,” he assures her. “I’m just really nervous.”

“What's there to be nervous about?” she says. “You’re crazy about him.”

Louis smiles at the sweet simplicity of this. “Not him I'm nervous about.”

“What, then?”

“You wouldn't get it.”

“Try me.”

“Oh, kid… You know. Everything else.”

“Louis, everybody here loves you two. We don’t think about anything besides that.”

“Maybe you don’t. But me and him do.”

Before they can let this rest, Niall and Oli sidle up behind them, and Oli hands Louis a stick of gum. From here, they can see the last row of pews, where Leigh Anne and her husband are sitting with their baby, probably in case he starts making noise and she's got to make a quick exit. Perrie is next to them. Louis catches her eye and gives her a little wave, and she winks at him and mouths, _break a leg._

“Hey,” Niall says. “Moment o’ truth, you poor bastard.”

Louis points to the engagement band on his finger that’s engraved with _E.G._ “Sorry, who's the poor bastard?”

“Hush,” Lottie scolds. “You're very lucky, the both of you.”

“Dead men walking,” says Oli. She elbows him.

Niall hands Louis a flask and winks. Louis takes it gratefully, and pounds back a sip.

The minister comes through the back doors of the church; there's the sound of creaking pews as everyone shifts to look at her. She strides up the aisle.

Louis squeezes his hand in a fist, cracking his knuckles.

The marching music starts; it’s something by Handel. Lottie and Karen had teamed up to veto most of their early ideas, which had ranged from Eagles songs to Dr. Dre deep cuts.

Liam and his groomsmen pop out of the hallway across the way, looking handsome in their suits against the dark wood of the walls. Liam catches Louis’ eye and sticks his tongue out at him as he lines up at the end of the aisle. Louis’ heart skips a beat. He gives him the finger. Liam looks down, grinning to himself.

They start walking, then, and he slips away, out of Louis’ view, followed by the boys.

“Alright,” Lottie says, nudging him in the side. “Go on.”

Louis inhales and nods, spits the gum out into a bin, then steps out into the aisle, his eyes swallowing up the high-ceilinged building and all the filled pews. Toward the back, people turn to look at them, smiling.

Louis shuts his eyes, moving his mint-coated tongue around in his mouth, trying to loosen his anxiety-tight jaw so he doesn't trip on his vows. He mouths _red leather yellow leather_ to himself, eyes still closed; when he opens them, he sees Liam waiting at the end.

The music fades to white noise. He's swallowed up in still silence, like he's underwater. Their eyes meet. All else falls away. It's just the two of them, like it ought to be.

Liam breaks into a smile that could pull the sun down out of the sky. He looks so handsome. His dark eyes start to glitter.

 _Don't cry,_ Louis mouths to him.

Liam tilts his head. _What?_

_Don't cry._

_I'll try,_ he mouths back.

Louis starts down the aisle, his lads and his sister trailing loyally behind him. His heart is going like mad in his chest.

His vision’s sort of blurry and funny, but he catches glimpses -- his other siblings are all piled together in one pew, Zayn made it after all and is sitting with his and Liam’s uni friends -- and then looks back up at his fiancé, whose expression is almost too much. It’s an excruciating euphoria to make eye contact with him right now.

Niall squeezes his shoulder as they reach the front and get all properly arranged. And then Louis is standing right opposite the man who's about to be his husband, squinting at him. Liam’s haloed by the white midday light coming in the tall windows behind them.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Oh, hey,” Louis says, his voice cracking. “What's up?”

A few people in the front pews chuckle. So does the minister, Polly. Louis reaches out and straightens Liam’s boutonnière, and then they turn to her.

She smiles at them and starts to read all of that sort of boring introductory palaver. Louis is having a really difficult time concentrating on her voice. He’s thrumming with nervous energy. He wonders if Liam’s listening more closely; he sneaks a quick peek at him. He still looks serene.

Liam notices Louis’ gaze and glances back.

“It does not envy, it does not boast…”

Louis pulls a funny face, and Liam looks away again so he doesn't laugh out loud.

Polly asks, then, if anyone has an objection. Louis turns, scanning the crowd.

“Anyone?” he says, to titters. “Keep it well to yourself, if you do.”

“I've got one,” Nick calls. “You owe me money, Tommo.”

“Objections to the marriage, not objections to me as a person,” Louis shoots back.

Calvin has a good laugh at this. 

“Oh, then no.”

“So, who brings this groom to be wedded to this man?” the minister says, indicating Louis and then Liam.

“We do!” his assembled family bellows, along with Niall.

“And who brings this groom to be wedded to this man?”

“We do,” the Paynes and John chorus together.

Louis looks over at Liam, choked up. Liam bumps their shoulders together gently.

“The grooms will now read vows of their own writing,” Polly says, and takes a step back.

Louis turns to face Liam, nervous, his face growing warm. He takes one deep breath and remembers what Niall said all those years ago -- _you’re the Iceman, you’re Tony Montana_ \-- and then pulls the somewhat wrinkled paper from the inner breast pocket of his jacket.

“Payno,” he starts off, and looks up at Liam, who’s smiling irrepressibly at him, his eyes still a little shiny. “Um…”

The anticipatory silence from the rows and rows of their loved ones feels like a physical force, pressing down on them. He tries to gather strength from it, instead of being cowed. He’s proud to be marrying Liam, isn’t he? Louis looks at him, really looks at him -- of course he is. He wishes he didn’t have to go first, but he offered to.

“Is that it?” Liam says cheekily.

“No,” Louis exclaims. Everyone chuckles. “Alright…” He looks back at the paper. “Payno. Liam. I remember I first saw you in Simon’s office, as a headshot he was showing me. And I felt this sort of, like -- I dunno, I felt very strongly about you, but I hadn’t met you yet, so I thought I didn’t like you, ironically.”

Liam’s smile widens.

“But, um.” Louis’ voice wavers ever so slightly. “Then I actually met you. And I remember shaking your hand and thinking I was already fucked. That was my exact thought, that I was fucked.”

More chuckling. He turns to Polly: “Sorry.”

She laughs. “It’s alright.”

Liam’s eyes are getting wetter; he glances upward and swallows, then looks back at Louis, whose own eyes are hot, now.

“I didn’t really think anything would happen, between us,” he says. His voice is growing throaty. “You surprised me in every way a person could surprise me. And I’m not easy to surprise.”

Liam nods in affirmation of this. A tear rolls down his cheek, and Louis gently wipes it away.

“I tend to expect the worst,” he says. “And, um, just ‘cos of some silly shit at work, I kept expecting the worst with you. And you kept being this like, steady force, just chipping away at me. You never let me down. You did the opposite. I started expecting the best from you, all the time. And you work really hard to give it to me. We’re all only human, but you’re always trying your best, like. Even at the littlest things. So that’s really why I fell in love with you.”

He looks away, now, because his throat is so tight he can’t speak, and he’s in very bad danger of letting tears fall, too. The paper is becoming hard to read.

“And, uh,” Louis says shakily. “I dunno. You’re me rock, you're, ah, the noble one. You’re who I want next to me in life, you’re who I want to lean on, every day. You’re it, mate. You’re my best friend, and I love you. So. Thanks for marrying me.”

There are _awws --_ a lot of them, for a group of stoic Brits. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees Lottie blinking back tears.

“Right,” Liam says, choked up now and wiping at his eyes. “So, okay. I’ll try to get through mine...”

“He’s just got allergies,” Louis says to the crowd. Zayn catches his eye and winks at him.

“I’m allergic to my emotions,” Liam mutters, to laughter.

“Did you memorize yours?” Louis says, swallowing and slipping his vows back into his pocket.

“I did,” Liam says, with a wink, his dark eyes bright from crying. “Perks of being a presenter.”

“Course.”

“So… your sister said to me once, when we'd just met,” he says, and takes Louis’ hands, squeezing them in his own. “That you’re a great person to have in your corner. That you’re like a mongoose.”

“Oh, _cheers,_ ” he says to Lottie, who sheepishly hides behind her bouquet.

“I meant it in a good way!” she says, her voice muffled.

“She did! She did,” Liam hastens to add.

Louis turns his gaze back to him. He’s almost painful to look at, devotion pouring out of him like light. Louis almost wants to flinch, but that’s the wonderful thing about this, isn’t it? The wonderful, freeing thing. This is, indisputably, for him. The grandest gesture someone could make -- to pledge themselves to you for life and stand up in front of everyone you both know talking about how you’re the best kind of mongoose.

Liam inhales in that measured, telly-person way of his. “And, like. She was totally right. That's who you are, you look out for the little guy, you fight like crazy for the people you care about. I love having you in my corner. And I think, at the time, I already sort of suspected that was who you were. I think when I met you, I was already fucked, too.”

Karen makes a very soft noise of disapproval at this. Louis stifles a laugh. He’s a terrible influence, he knows.

“And you’ve never let me down, either,” Liam says, lacing their fingers together. “You’ve never not believed in me, defended me. You make me laugh, every single day. Every day I think about how lucky I am that I wake up next to my favorite person, the light of my life.”

Louis’ heart is pounding fiercely. He looks away from him, tightening his jaw so he doesn’t cry.

“Every day with you is golden, Tommo,” Liam says softly, almost too soft for everyone to hear. The audience is so silent, you can hear the pews creak every time someone moves. “I’m always excited to see you. You walk through a door, it’s like the first time, every time. You're my favorite person, and I can’t wait for the rest of our lives together. I’d follow you anywhere. I love you too.”

Louis drags in a breath. “Well, fuck,” he says, and they laugh together through their tears.

His littlest siblings come up, then, and eagerly hand them the rings. Liam takes both of them so Louis can tousle the twins’ hair before sending them on their way again, and then hands Louis his.

“Wait, don’t give me _mine,_ ” Louis whispers. “Give me yours, so I can put it on your finger.”

“Ohh, right.”

“Fuckin’ the whole thing up already.”

Liam nudges him, smiling.

“May your ring be always the symbol of the unbroken circle of love,” Polly recites. “Love freely given has no beginning and no end. Love freely given has no separate giver and receiver. You are each the giver, and each the receiver. May your ring always call to mind the freedom and the power of this love.”

Louis rolls Liam’s ring around in his fingers, then squeezes his hand shut, clutching it in his warm palm.

“Louis, if you would repeat after me. ‘I give you this ring to wear upon your hand, as a symbol of our love and commitment.’”

“I give you this ring to wear on your hand, as a symbol of our love and commitment,” Louis says, and takes Liam’s hand, slipping it onto his finger. “Ah, now you’re stuck with me.”

“Liam, if you’d repeat after me. ‘I give you this ring to wear upon your hand, as a symbol of our love and commitment.’”

“I give you this ring to wear upon your hand, as a symbol of our love and commitment,” Liam recites, and then has a false start when he accidentally goes for Louis’ middle finger.

Louis grins once he gets it right. “Do I kiss him now?”

Polly smiles patiently. “I pronounce you, first.”

“Right, go on.”

“Since you, Liam Payne, and you, Louis Tomlinson, have joined yourselves in marriage, and have signified your commitment to each other in the joining of hands and exchanging of rings, you are now and henceforth married. And now --”

They’re already kissing before she finishes her sentence. The older guests clap politely, and everyone else cheers like it’s a football game they’ve just won. Around them, their groomsmen whoop in celebration. Lottie tosses the little bouquet she’s holding into the pews; Ruth catches it and exclaims, “But I’m already married!” The woman on the organ launches haphazardly into the last stanza of the wedding march, as if to cap off the energy of the moment.

The newlyweds separate quickly; it was a chaste little kiss. They beam at each other.

“Now for the fun parts,” Louis says, reaching up and stroking Liam’s hair back off his forehead.

“I’m so amped on our cake,” Liam says. He’s glowing. Louis gazes fondly at him. “Seriously, I’ve been thinking about the cake for months.”

“Me too, honestly.”

 

/

 

Louis stares dazedly at Liam all through Niall and John and Lottie’s toasts, thinking, _that's my husband_. Liam, who skipped breakfast, picks ravenously at his crudités and salad while their groomsmen talk; Louis sits next to him and strokes his hair, his ear, his freshly-shaven cheek like he's never touched him before, like he's a spaceman that fell down out of the sky into his life.

The toasts are convivially joking, almost more like roasts. Niall gets his biggest laugh from the assembled ITV caucus when he points out that Louis and Liam were the absolute last people in the newsroom to figure out they were in love with each other. He’s made this joke in private before, but he said ‘to figure out they wanted to fuck’ instead.

“Eat,” Liam whispers to Louis, when they finish clapping for John. “The people getting married never have time to eat at these things, eat.”

“I'm not hungry,” Louis murmurs.

“Well, get your fingers out of his ears, at least,” Owen says, leaning forward, his face dappled by shadows from the birch tree hanging its branches over their table.

“You look like a monkey man grooming your monkey husband,” Andy adds.

“Ouch,” Liam says, popping an olive into his mouth. “Why do _I_ have to be a monkey? I didn't do anythin’.”

“Monkeys don't marry people, they marry other monkeys,” Andy says, like this is common sense.

Lottie nods as if to corroborate.

Liam coughs and spits out the olive pit, like he hadn’t realized there would be one. A table away, Paul stands, his eyebrows shooting up in alarm.

“Louis,” he says aloud, looking over.

Louis feels a chill snake down his neck. Paul’s stricken expression and demeanor is so at odds with the happy chatter of everyone around them, the calm and bright spring day in the garden here -- all cheery greenery and chirping birds, white flowers on the centerpieces.

Paul hustles over to him, lays a hand on his shoulder, and leans down to whisper in his ear. “Ralph just texted me. The Rats are going off at the BBC.”

“Oh, fuck,” Louis hisses.

The groomsmen and Lottie are staring at him.

“The Rats,” Louis says to Andy, who blanches.

Liam looks puzzled, then: “Wait, is that --”

“Royal about to snuff it,” Niall explains.

“The Queen?” Louis whispers, turning to Paul.

“Oh no,” Lottie exclaims, “not her, not _today…_ ”

The guests seem to realize something is wrong; people are turning in their chairs. Toward the back, where she's seated with Jesy and Jade, Perrie mouths, _What?_

Paul’s phone rings. He quickly answers it and puts it to his and Louis’ ears.

“Yo,” Ben says. “We've got like, crazy police activity right near where you lot are. Down the road in Buckinghamshire. Looks like the Queen collapsed while she was blessing a building at Stowe Garden and was taken to hospital nearby.”

“You're fuckin’ joking,” Louis says.

“Wait, how far from us?” Paul says.

“What's your address?”

Paul gives it to him. Ben whistles.

“You're about ten minutes away, as the crow flies.”

Louis’ heart starts pounding, and his mouth dries out.

“We've got to go,” Liam says, leaning forward. “This is huge. This is the story of the year.”

“Hang on, love, she ain't dead for sure yet,” Louis replies, although every muscle in his body is tensed, poised to go run to the car.

“Conflicting reports, so far,” Ben says. “We just got a call in that she was dead on arrival, and another that she's critical.”

“Dead on arrival?” Louis repeats with numb incredulity.

“Are you shittin’ me?” Niall says.

“What the hell happened at Stowe Garden?” Liam exclaims, keeping his voice low enough to not reach beyond the table. “We need to get someone to the hospital.”

A phone goes off, then. Harry’s phone. He furrows his brow and picks it up, “Hullo?”

And then it's as if a dam had broken: Zayn’s phone goes off, and someone else's, and someone else's. The wedding is full of journalists: their friend Kelly from the Standard, Liam’s mates from when he worked at Channel Four, a third of the staff of ITV News. The frantic whispers begin: “Are you sure? Do we even know what those alarms sound like, anymore?” and “Wait, down the _road_ from me? You're joking.”

Harry is the first to leap to his feet; Zayn, a second later. They glare at each other.

“Oi,” Zayn says, turning to Louis, “your boy’s trying to ditch your weddin’.”

“I am not!” Harry says, his face reddening. “What're _you_ doing?”

Zayn hesitates. “Standing,” he finally says, defiantly.

Karen leans over and pokes Liam on the arm. “What’s going on here?”

“The Queen might be dead,” Liam says.

At this, everyone erupts in shock and hushed whispers. One of the waiters is refilling Fizzy’s water and spills a bit on the tablecloth, his eyes bugging.

“Oh, no,” Karen says mournfully. “Not Elizabeth?”

“Well, we've only got the one, haven't we Mum?” says Ruth.

Harry and Zayn are still hovering, like they're playing a game of chicken over who's going to be rude first.

“Look,” Louis says, and gets to his feet. Everyone looks at him, including Liam, who after a moment tosses his napkin onto his plate and stands as well. Paul straightens up and folds his arms.

“It sounds like the Queen took very sick a few minutes from here,” Louis continues. “So… What I'm thinking is, if anybody’d like to skip dinner to go help their outlet with coverage, and come back for the dancing and cake and things, that’s fine with us. And me and Liam might actually skip dinner as well. I'm sorry everyone, I know that's really, properly rude of us, but we'll be back in a flash, I promise.”

There's a miasma of confusion and grief over the crowd; those of their guests who aren't cold-blooded journalists look stricken. Louis feels for them.

“If you're going, I'm going,” Jesy calls out from her table toward the back. “Someone's got to do social media.”

“You need a photog,” Perrie shouts.

“That's me, Pez,” Niall yells back.

“Oh, come on, you always get the best ones...”

“Pezza,” Jade exclaims in a loud whisper, “the _Queen_ is dead!”

“Not yet,” Louis corrects, “we don't know that yet. We don't know anythin’.”

“It's up to me if anyone gets overtime,” Paul says stiffly, with no real power behind it, like a dad half-heartedly threatening to cancel pizza night.

“Oh, come on,” Louis begs, turning to him. “Look, Zayn’s going to scoop us for BBC if we don't go. They've already got the advantage on this, why give them more?”

“Not likely to scoop us, honestly,” Niall says. “He hasn't got a camera with him, he drove a ragtop here.”

Zayn scowls. Harry glances at him, a smile playing on his lips.

“You don't have a camera?” he says, a little gleefully.

“What d’you care, newspaperman?” Zayn shoots back.

“Just wondering why you're jumping up like you're about to rush out of here?”

Zayn flicks his dark hair back. “I was gonna have somebody meet me there with gear. Enough for you?”

Niall leans forward, his face in his hands. “I just wanted one nice afternoon,” he moans. “Where we didn't worry about work. Can’t even bring my fiancée to this wedding ‘cos _she_ had to work, now _I’ve_ got to work?”

“You two aren't really running away from your wedding, are you?” Lottie says, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

Louis looks to Liam, who gazes steadily back at him, his face lit warmly in the afternoon sun.

“If you don't want to go, we won't,” he says. “And I mean that.”

Liam smiles, shaking his head. “I think we wouldn't forgive ourselves if we missed this, y’know?”

Louis nods, relieved to be so fully understood.

“Alright,” Paul says quietly, “I'm approving you, Niall and Jesy for overtime. Go and get back quick.”

Louis claps him on the shoulder. “Thanks, mate.”

“And if she is dead,” Paul says, dropping his voice, “you know how it is. We've got ten days of programming set to go, I've got an instruction booklet an inch thick. It's all very rehearsed and practiced. Go on and get what you can, but hurry back, I want you to enjoy today and your honeymoon and all that. Capisce, boys?”

They both nod, and then awkwardly untangle themselves from their chairs, aware that all eyes are on them.

Liam looks to his family with anxiety, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Well,” Geoff says with a shrug. “We’ll be here, I suppose. Should we tell them to keep your salmon warm?”

Liam laughs, sounding relieved. “Yeah, Dad, go ahead, thanks.”

Louis starts to lead him away by the hand.

“Hey,” Lottie calls as they depart up the hill with a gaggle of other journos. “If you aren't back in an hour, I'm coming to fetch you, alright?”

“Got it,” Louis says, with a wink and a salute.

Liam slings an arm around him as they walk up toward the car park, under the shade of the flowering trees. Louis sneezes allergically.

“Bless you,” Liam says. “I can't believe I'm ducking out on my own wedding.”

“I can,” Louis says. “I also completely believe that I have the luck for the Queen to die today, of all days.”

Liam laughs.

“You laugh, but it's true.”

“Let's not count her out yet, yeah?” says Niall, falling in step beside them.

“What do you care, Irishman?” Louis jokes, falling behind for a moment when his heel (he's got a little lift in his dress shoes, so he and Liam were closer to the same height) gets stuck in the soft, rain-soaked grass. Liam stops and waits for him, hand still on his shoulder.

Niall stops, too. “Hey, I've got nothin’ against the Queen,” he says. “Sorta hate that Charles, but…”

They get going again.

“I forgot it'll be Charles,” Liam says. “Should've just passed him, given it to Wills.”

“Agreed,” Louis says.

When they all reach the car park, Harry starts striding ahead. The sun is beating down, now, quickly drying any leftover puddles on the gravel.

“Not fair,” Louis shouts. “You've got longer legs.”

Harry opens the door to his smart car, turning to wink at them. “Keep up,” he calls as he climbs in.

Jesy hurries off to her own car, Kelly hops on her motorbike, and Zayn makes a dash for his convertible. Liam hustles to his new RLX, and Louis and Niall pile in after him, slamming the doors.

“Radio One,” Niall says, leaning forward between the seats, and Louis obliges, then paws at the sunglasses holder for a pair of aviators.

The three of them sit in rapt silence as they pull out, listening to Haunted Dancehall.

“Dead, ain't she?” Niall says.

“She must be,” Louis says softly.

“Hon,” Liam says, “I've got a black tie in the glovebox there, could you --”

Louis pops it open and pulls it out, laying it across his own lap. It's a nice one, thick and sleek.

“Thanks…”

The song ends, then, and they all stiffen in their seats.

“This is the BBC from London,” a soft male voice says.

“This is it, boys,” Louis mutters.

There's some throat-clearing and paper-rustling.

“It is with tremendous sadness,” says the voice, somewhat hesitantly, “that I make the following announcement. Her Majesty the Queen, Elizabeth the Second, has passed peacefully away at a few minutes before two.”

It's more surreal than Louis expected it to be. The radio jock pauses, and the three of them are thrown into silence with those words hanging in the air. Niall lets out a low whistle.

“Oh,” Liam exhales. “Shit.”

They're at a light, so he puts his tie on as the gentle male voice continues, whipping the knot together with lightning speed. Louis sits, stunned, looking out the windscreen at the country road ahead of them. It winds neatly through the hills like a ribbon.

“In twelve hundred meters, turn left,” their GPS interrupts.

“Hush,” Liam says to her. “Our Queen is dead.”

The light changes, and he starts up the car again. Louis reaches over and straightens his tie for him. Then he digs in the glove box for the cigarettes he left in there a few months ago, and lights one up.

Liam doesn't object. After a minute or so, he reaches over, plucks it from Louis’ fingers and takes a hard drag of his own.

 

/

 

The hospital car park is a madhouse of weeping admirers who saw her collapse at Stowe, but they seem to be some of the first journalists on scene. Louis slinks by the barricades when everyone's distracted, then stakes out a spot near the emergency entrance.

A cop who's been corralling people walks by, does a double take, and grabs him by the arm. “You can't be here, mate.”

Louis shakes him off and flashes his press badge. “Think I can, actually. NHS hospital, public property.”

The cop takes his sunglasses off and squints at it, then sighs. “Already? Thought we'd have a breather before you lot started rolling in. Fine, stay, but do _not_ go past here, alright?”

Seeming defeated, he strolls off to go help one of his colleagues, who's barely holding a barricade in place as people push at him, mobiles held aloft, begging for answers.

Niall strides over, the muscles on his freckled forearms standing out from the effort of carrying his camera and tripod. Liam is jogging behind him, eyes glued to his phone.

“Right here looks good,” Louis says, moving out of the way and pointing. The legs of the tripod make a loud thunk on the asphalt as Niall drops it down. “Nice bush to frame him with, you can see the entrance on one side and the crowds on the other.”

“Shit, we’re really t’ first on scene,” Niall says, glancing up as he settles his camera in and fixes his settings, his dark blonde fringe flopping. He took his tie and jacket off in the car, and he looks like an off-duty cocktail waiter. “Four’s waiting on cameras too, an’ Harry and Zayn are here, but Harry’s not TV, and Zayn’s just tweeting. And tweets are whatever. We've got Jesy tweetin’, so.”

Louis’ heart starts to race with excitement. “We’re blowing this one open.”

“Team ITV,” Liam says, and they high-five.

“Not much to blow open, lads,” Niall mutters, straightening up and turning the camera on. “An old lady died in hospital. We don't even have details.”

“We don't need ‘em,” Louis says, kneeling to start up their portable satellite box. “Just the fact that for the rest of their lives, when people all over Britain think about when they first heard the Queen was dead and turned the telly on, they'll remember the first thing they saw was Liam Payne standing up all somber in front of the hospital. We're the first, we beat the Beeb, least in this respect. It counts.”

Liam nods as he slips his IFB into his ear. “Mic check,” he says, and waits. “One two three, three two one.”

“How's the script look?” Louis says to him.

Liam gives a thumbs up. “Great stuff, considering you wrote it in two minutes in the car.”

“Live in one minute,” Niall says. “Countdown in forty-five.”

Liam’s entire demeanor shifts: suddenly his back is ramrod straight, his face blank, his shoulders square. It's as if he's aged ten years in the blink of an eye. Louis has seen him do this nearly every day for two years, and he still can't figure how he pulls it off.

“Boutonnière,” Niall says suddenly, as he hunches over the camera peering into the viewfinder. “Get it off, quick, give it to your husband.”

Liam smiles dreamily as he looks down, tugging the little flower free from his lapel. “My _husband_ ,” he says, and beams at Louis while handing it to him.

“Try to look less happy, Payno, the Queen is dead,” Louis instructs.

Liam smoothes his expression again. Distantly, someone behind the barricades lets out a mewling, choked sob.

“Christ,” Louis says without meaning to, annoyed by the performative grief.

“People really loved her,” Niall murmurs.

“Eh, they think they loved her. They didn't actually know her.”

Liam’s chin lifts, and he gets that steely look, like he just heard “fifteen” in his ear. Louis wonders who's producing -- Michael? Ed, Jade and Andy all took the day off for the wedding. He didn't even bother to look at the schedule. He didn't think he'd have to worry about work at all today. For once he envies his friends from uni who became solicitors and accountants.

But they’ll never know this rush, will they? Louis looks at Liam, who he can tell is reciting his lines in his head, over and over as the producer counts down to airtime. He has that flush in his cheeks, the nervous thrill of going on air. Nothing compares to it.

“You've got this,” Louis says. Liam flicks his eyes to him, nods fast and winks, and then they're live.

Liam listens to his IFB, squinting slightly, and nods. “Right, Cheryl, we’re currently outside of Buckingham Hospital, where we’ve been told the Queen was brought when she suddenly took ill during a planned event at Stowe Gardens. It was here that the news broke that her Majesty had passed away. We’re surrounded on all sides --” (Niall begins to pan away from Liam, to the barricades behind them) “-- by grieving crowds who have gathered to pay their last respects to Britain’s longest-reigning monarch.”

Liam goes silent for a long moment, then his face returns to normal and he nods. “Right. Thanks, Michael,” he says, in a far less grim tone.

“What’re they cutting to?” Louis says.

Liam wets his lips. “Niall, can I --”

Niall pans back and flips the preview screen so Liam can see himself. He does that funny boyish pout as he squints into it, fixing his quiff, then says to Louis, “Buckingham Palace. Lily is down there right now, the footman pinned the death notice to the gates and the crowds are already massive.”

Louis nods. “Are we going straight to obit and retrospectives after this?”

“Yeah, I think they just wanted a quick hit from me, since it's news she died in hospital --”

“-- and not like, in bed --”

“-- right, and collapsed in public, all that. We can head back, after.”

“For cake and dancing.”

Liam grins. “My favorite bits.”

There are random shouts from the growing crowd, which is becoming too rowdy for the police to handle. The mourners sway and rumble like water behind a levee about to break. More patrol cars are pulling in, and constables pouring out.

“Budge up!” one shouts, stomping his way through the crowd, knocking into a girl with ginger hair and glasses. She glares at him. “Get back, people, get back!”

In the chaos, Zayn flees past the barricade while flashing his press badge, and starts setting up beside them with a portly older photog Louis hasn't met before.

“Ha,” Liam says good-naturedly. “Finally got a camera? We beat you, you know.”

“I know,” Zayn says, smiling and glancing over at him. “Nice job, boys.”

Louis glances behind them, looking for Harry. He spots him right away, weaving through the crowd in a suit with his pen and notepad, taller than most everyone else in it. He catches his eye, and they exchange a knowing look. Harry sticks his tongue out at him. Louis chuckles and turns around again.

Cheryl tosses back to Liam, who gives a quick and somber wrap-up, and the three of them straight away start dismantling the camera and tripod.

Niall heaves the tripod onto his shoulder and smooths his hair back, smiling. “Half hour o’ work? Not bad, considerin’ how many people just watched that.”

“You think anyone's tuned into ITV over the Beeb?” Liam says, unthreading his lav mic from his jacket and loosening the black tie so he can take it off.

Louis hands him his boutonniere back. “If I heard ITV had a live update from the hospital, I would,” he says. “Did you see the push alert Jesy sent, that we were about to go on? People tuned in, love.”

“But I didn't even tell them anything they didn't already know,” Liam mutters.

Louis socks him in the shoulder. “Hey, worrywart. You did a great job. Alright? Let's enjoy our wedding day, now.”

Liam agreeably slings an arm around him as the three of them head back to the car park, maneuvering through the growing crowd, sidestepping people. It has the vibe of a concert; Louis has to elbow people out of the way so they don't bump into Niall and his camera.

 

/

 

When they trod back down the damp hill, shining green with rain, they find their guests have grown overserved in their absence and begun to mingle.

“Good,” Louis says, surveying the scene. “Bunch of drunks. Don't think they missed us.”

Perrie and Lottie are tiddly and dancing under the tent together, despite that the DJ hasn't started up yet. Most everyone's plates are clean of salmon. The Paynes and Tomlinsons are freely mixing their two tables; Fizzy appears to be in the middle of recounting something to Geoff.

“Boys are back,” John announces loudly when he spots them.

Everyone turns to them and starts cheering and whooping. Louis and Liam wave, going “Hullo, hullo,” while Niall and Jesy slink along behind them, trying not to step on their moment.

“Hi everyone,” Liam shouts. “Sorry again for ducking out…”

This is met with tipsy British sympathy, and a lot of “no no no”s and “you're fine, mate”s.

“Let's cut the cake now,” Louis whispers to him. “So the olds can go home, if they like.”

“And so we can _eat_ the cake,” Liam whispers back, as they weave between tables.

“And that.”

The cake sits, white and pristine, in the center of the whole shebang. Perrie and Lottie hurry back to the former’s table; Lottie kneels in the soft grass next to her, pushing her laurel back up over her forehead and winking drunkenly at Tommy where he’s sitting a few tables over. Tommy chuckles.

“Alright,” Louis says quietly, and lifts up the knife. “Do we --”

“You both hold it,” Lou shouts.

“And cut it together?” Liam says, laying his hand atop Louis’.

“Yes,” several people chorus.

Bressie sneaks into position near a bush and starts furtively snapping photos of them.

“Don't smash it in my face,” Liam mutters in Louis’ ear, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Louis smiles, basking in the sun and the nice day and the love of everyone around them. “Sorry, smash it in your face?”

Liam gives him a look. “ _Don't_ smash it in my face.”

“I think I've got to smash it in your face.”

The cake is still cold from the freezer, so they shimmy their hands together to free the first piece and get it on a plate.

Louis picks up a hunk of gleaming white cake in his fingers. Liam looks at him resignedly. He grins, mouths “sorry,” and smashes it in his face. He can hear Niall behind them, laughing the hardest of anyone.

Liam, cake-faced, nods and says, “Alright,” then smashes some on Louis.

It’s much colder and gooier than he expected. Louis spits out a piece of fondant, and the two of them begin to chuckle fondly and share a little frosting-sticky kiss, to awws from the crowd.

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees Harry, Zayn and Kelly jogging down the hill.

“Oi, skivers!” he calls to them. Everyone turns in their seats to look.

“Oh, are we back in time for cake?” Harry calls airily, to scattered laughter.

“No cake for you,” Louis jokes. Harry pouts and settles back into his chair, next to Jade.

“You're supposed to _feed_ it to each other,” Kelly points out.

Louis turns back to Liam, and wipes his face off with a napkin; Liam squints cutely as he does. Then he pops a small piece into his mouth.

Liam nods in approval. “ _Really_ good cake,” he says.

Louis smiles and smooths a piece of frosting out of his eyebrow.

“I think we're officially married now,” he says, licking his finger. “I think that was the clincher, right there.”

 

/

 

They both worried about being self-conscious during the first dance, but it's nice. They don't look at anyone but each other, and they move like a couple of old pros. All those long hours Liam insisted they spend squeaking around on wood floors as their instructor snapped her fingers and corrected their form weren’t wasted. They glide around the floor, gazing at each other, never a moment out of step with the other.

When the song ends, Louis is jarred out of his reverie; everyone applauds as he stands there, equally out of breath as Liam is, their hands still clasped.

“Well done,” Liam says, beaming, eyes twinkling. “Mrs Payne.”

“Uh, well done yourself, Mrs Tomlinson.”

Liam laughs.

They're joined by other couples then, and the music starts back up, turning into _Without You._ They start dancing more lazily, just swaying in little circles in the middle of the floor, holding each other. Louis feels warm in the center of himself. It pools out into his limbs, filling him, making him light of step and hot in the face. Liam looks so content. Louis just stares and stares at him, marveling.

The sun has gone down, and the bushes and trees around them twinkle with fireflies as the candles near the edges of the tent glow. And those who have stayed seated at the tables are pleasantly drunk, their giggly conversations carrying upwind.

“I wish Zayn hadn't tried to scoop us,” Liam mutters, sort of out of the blue, like it’s been bothering him. “Today, of all days.”

“Oh, Payno,” Louis says. “This business is what it is.”

“Would you do the same to him, though? ‘Cos I wouldn't.”

Louis hesitates. “Maybe.”

“I don't think you would,” Liam says. “On his wedding day. I think you're above that.”

Louis kisses him, soft and slow, drawing Liam's full bottom lip into his mouth. They separate and smile at each other.

“I love you,” he says to Liam. He thinks he’s wrong about him being above that. But he’s protective of him; he wants the world to be exactly what Liam thinks it is, always.

Liam’s face softens. “I love you, too.”

Louis lowers his voice even further. “Hey,” he says throatily. “I’m still sore from earlier.”

Liam’s expressive face cycles through several emotions. He looks off in middle distance, over Louis’ head, grinning boyishly. “Oh, are you?”

He circles his arms around Liam’s neck, running his hands through his hair against the grain. “And when we get to the hotel, I’m gonna get you back.”

“Yeah?” Liam purrs.

“Uh-huh.”

“What if we’re jetlagged?”

“Drink a Redbull, kid.”

 

/

 

Later on, when all the big photo ops are done and Liam’s well tipsy and trying to regift bottles of wine to the people that are leaving early, Louis goes and finds Harry.

He's at a table toward the back, alone, his tie loose around his neck and his hair mussed, looking at his emails on his phone. He looks up when Louis approaches, and sets it down, moving his feet off the chair across from himself so Louis can sit.

“Hi,” Louis says, walking his fingers along the bumpy texture of the white tablecloth. “Is it bad manners to be alone with your ex-boyfriend at your wedding?”

“Hmm, I'm not up on my wedding etiquette,” Harry jokes. “I did bring a date, so maybe you're safe.”

“Oh, right, your plus-one.” Louis turns around, squinting for him amongst his other guests in the candlelit darkness. “Roger?”

“Rob,” Harry corrects mildly.

“ _Rooob_ , right. Don't think I've even got a good look at him.”

“I was sitting with him before. Dark hair?”

Louis remembers, now, a sort of nondescriptly handsome bloke, square-jawed and tall like Harry. No one Harry dates reminds Louis of himself, except for Nick. “Ah, yeah. So where's Rob at?”

“I think dancing,” Harry murmurs. “He's tired of me. I'm not being fun today.”

Louis gets an unpleasant heat in his chest and raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, _please_ ,” Harry admonishes. “It’s got nothing to do with you, trust me.”

“Good,” Louis says. “‘Cos I’d toss you out of here on your arse.”

He laughs, not too sincerely. “It's just… it’s your wedding. And Nick’s here, and I hadn't seen him. And I, y’know…”

“And what, mate?”

“I guess I don't get it,” Harry says, his brow drawn. He runs his tongue along his teeth. “No, I get it. I do. I'm a romantic. Aren't I?”

Louis nods. “Yeah.” He hesitates. “Maybe in theory more than in practice, but yeah.”

“Ouch,” he says with a smile.

“You want the truth or not?”

“I've just never felt like this, like you do,” Harry says, sort of achingly, and looks at Louis as if Louis can pull open the origami of marriage for him and show him where all the folds are, and how it fits together. “When you did your vows, I was like... I've never --” He sighs. “You don't want your freedom at all?”

“Nah,” he says, running his finger along the rim of a champagne flute and looking back at him. “You know that. Always told you, didn't I? I like having somebody to hold me down.”

Harry studies him with those eyes, that piercing, penetrating gaze. Louis has always felt uncomfortable being pinned by it since they broke up.

“There's so many people in the world,” he says. “How d’you know it's Liam?”

Louis shrugs. “I don't _know_ it's Liam,” he says. “Nobody -- no genie came to me and said, oi! It's Liam! Better lock that one in.”

Harry laughs.

Louis shrugs. “Dunno, I -- you heard what I said, yeah? He makes me feel safe… he's somebody I want to be a partner with, in life. He has what I was looking for in a person. I love him, I trust him. There's a lot of intangibles… little things. The shit that adds up. I love him, at the end of the day.”

“Did you feel safe with me?” Harry says, hesitating.

“No,” Louis answers honestly. “At first, yeah. Maybe. But you outgrew me.”

Harry looks rather gutted by this. His face falls. Louis smiles kindly at him, and reaches out to pat his shoulder.

“I’m not saying that to hurt you,” he says. “Ain’t something you did _to_ me. It's just life. Look, you'll find it. It'll knock you over the head one day. Or it won't, and you'll be perfectly happy going on the way you are.”

“Alone.”

Louis shrugs. “If that's what feels best to you.”

“I felt like…” Harry says, and hesitates again. “What happened with us... I didn't feel like it was that I outgrew you.”

Louis laces his hands together and looks at them, instead of Harry’s face, thinking very deliberately about the words he wants to choose.

“When you're growing,” he says, slowly, “I think you don't feel it, so much. The people around you do. You don't.”

“How convenient,” Harry says drily.

Louis snorts. “Maybe just -- don't always be looking out at the horizon.”

“Is that what you felt like I was doing?”

“Yeah. It stung. An’ by the end, I was too.”

Harry looks like he wants to argue this, but his face draws together, and he doesn't.

“People want you to look back down at them once in a while, is all,” Louis says with a wan smile.

“Alright. Alright… Thanks for being honest with me.”

“Always. Even when you don't want it.”

“Anyway, congratulations again.” Harry inhales, poking his tongue into his cheek. “I'm sure you're probably right about a lot of this.”

Louis gets up, squeezing his hand. Harry’s eyes follow him, glowing green in the bright sunshine. “I'm always right. And thanks.”

 

/

 

Louis spends a good twenty minutes on the dancefloor, teaching the kids a basic waltz, and then realizes how late it's gotten and sways tipsily out from under the tent to go find his husband.

Liam is standing at the bottom of the hill saying goodnight to his parents when Louis sidles up, shrugging under his arm, which automatically goes around him.

“Louis,” Karen says happily, and musses his hair. “Feel like we've barely seen you.”

Louis shoots her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, rushing around all day. You have a good time?”

“Oh, yeah, it was very nice,” Geoff says. “Exactly like your usual sort of wedding.”

Liam tilts his head. “Usual?”

His dad winces. “You know what I mean.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I don’t know… Never been to a gay one, have I? Didn’t know what to expect.”

Ruth, who’s chatting with Lottie a few feet away, overhears this and grimaces.

“Normally there’s a parade,” Louis says, to break the tension, “but we opted out.”

Liam laughs at this, maybe a bit too hard. “Did I give you some of the extra wine?” he says to them.

Louis pinches him in the side. “Oi, stop giving away all our wine, would you?”

“But we got like sixteen bottles, and we don't drink wine.”

“I'll drink anythin’ that's free, Payno.”

“We don't need any wine, sweetheart,” Karen says. “Are you leaving on your honeymoon tonight, or tomorrow?”

“Tonight,” Louis says. “Flight’s at three, we were gonna sleep the whole way.”

“Well, have a lovely time,” she says, and pulls them both in for a hug.

“I'll text you when we land,” Liam says, giving her a kiss on the cheek and then clapping his dad on the shoulder.

“Drive safe,” Louis adds. “Lots of blind hills out this way.”

They depart, walking off to say goodbye to Liam's sisters. Liam pulls Louis closer to him, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling his cheek. Louis closes his eyes.

“You sleepy?”

“Me?” Louis murmurs. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Wide awake.”

Liam chuckles softly. “Okay.”

Louis hears someone say, “There they are,” and then hears chairs being pulled out at the table behind him.

He turns; Nick, Niall, Oli and Andy have descended upon them.

“Hi there,” Nick says boozily. “When d’you shove off to the islands?”

“A few hours,” Liam says. Louis settles against back him comfortably, their arms entwined.

“Gonna be weird, not having you at work for a week,” Niall says.

“Bert and Ernie,” says Andy.

Liam laughs. “I’m Ernie.”

Louis stretches his arm up behind him and strokes his hair. “You're Bert, once in a while.”

“That's true. We share the burden.”

“The Bert-den,” Nick says. “Oh, fuck me, that was awful. I dated Harry way too long.”

“Speaking of, where'd he get off to?”

Nick leans back and points; Louis follows his finger and sees a drunk Harry chatting up Kelly under the tent, by some fairy lights.

“Figures,” Nick says. “Poor girl, she probably thinks he's going to go home with her.”

“He might, if he’s drunk enough,” Louis says.

“Remember I’m in for you tomorrow, Lou,” Andy says. “You trust me with your baby?”

Louis shrugs. “Burn the place to the ground if you like. I'll be tanning my arse on the beach.”

“Wow, look how soon he forgets us,” Oli says.

Niall laughs. “Watch, you'll come back to a picket line.”

“Nah, I trust you, Andy… your shows are always clean.”

Andy whistles. “That’s high praise, from you.”

“I feel a bit threatened, honestly,” Liam says.

Louis laughs. He finds his eyes are growing bleary in the warm summer dark. Liam’s hands slide down the tired muscles of his back and into his trousers, gently squeezing his arse.

Louis leans into his touch. “Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi,” Liam murmurs in his ear.

“You need a room?” Oli ribs them.

“You know I caught ‘em fuckin’ this mornin’,” crows Niall, who's as drunk as the rest of them.

“ _Neil!”_

“What? I did!”

“You walked in?” Nick says lasciviously, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Nah, I knocked on the door an’ they were like, hey, go away, lad, we’re fuckin’ in here.”

Liam snorts.

“That’s what you get for skulking around knocking on doors,” Louis tells him.

“I was doin’ my best man duties!” Niall says, looking greatly offended.

“A toast. To love,” Andy says, raising an almost-empty champagne flute.

“To fucking,” Nick amends, raising his own, and they all clink glasses.

“What’re you doing after you get back?” Niall says. “Over the weekend?”

“Sleeping,” Louis says. “Why, you wanna do something?”

“Oh, I wanted to go duck hunting,” Liam exclaims. “Louis doesn't, though.”

“Liam, you've never shot a gun before that wasn't an Airsoft,” Louis says in mild exasperation. “The duck’s’ll hear you coming a mile away, and then we're just sloshing around in the mud for nothing.”

“ _I’d_ go duck hunting,” Niall says. “Could be a good time.”

Liam points to him. “I love Niall. He's a team player.”

Niall blows him a kiss.

“So on my honeymoon, my husband’s leavin’ me to go duck hunting with my best mate? Cheers.”

“Who's duck hunting?” Zayn says, as he walks up and pulls out the last chair at the table.

“Where’d you come from?” says Niall.

He shrugs. “Hiding from Perrie.”

“Such a gentleman,” Nick says drily.

“Funny,” Zayn says, scowling. “Maybe I ought to call Harry over here and he can tell us who's less a gentleman, you or me.”

Nick laughs insincerely.

“Liam and me are duck hunting,” Niall says, jumping in quickly to fill the awkwardness.

Zayn laughs. “Neither of you've ever shot a gun in your life.”

“That's what _I_ said,” Louis says, in a belligerent and drunken way, and Liam squeezes his shoulders as if to communicate to him that he's being loud. “They just want to play like they're Harry and Wills.”

Nick raises his glass for another toast. “Speaking of which…one more, for the Queen.”

“Wait, I'm empty,” Oli says. “That's bad luck.”

Andy pours him some of his own champagne, and they all clink glasses again.

“To the Queen,” they chorus.

Liam starts singing the national anthem. The rest of them join in, sort of raucously, and then it spreads out across all the remaining guests until the trees are full of the sound of it.


End file.
